


The Fighting Website (that no one's supposed to know about)

by orphan_account



Category: Animator vs. Animation (Short Film 2006)
Genre: Gen, Will add more tags as I go, especially stick figures, illegal stick fighting website, takes place in a world where sentient creations are common
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After being deleted by The Animator, Victim found himself in a void. It was fine for a while, before they were taken somewhere else. Somewhere much more horrible. After years in that place, finally they were going to meet a somewhat familiar stick figure, and they were finally going to be free...
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. New Neighbor?

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to all the fanfic writers in the AvA Enthusiasts Discord - you guys gave me enough confidence to actually post this on a public site!
> 
> Also, I’m quite new to publishing works on AO3, so please bare with me as I figure out how this site’s formatting works!
> 
> Enjoy!

A dark colored stick figure was rudely woken up by the sounds of the metal cell door across from them briefly opening and closing, drowning out the ‘thud’ that should be accompanying the opening of a cell door. The stick figure sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes as they decided that they wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. They scooted over to near their own door, and peered out through the iron bars to look over to their new neighbor. They sighed when they saw hints of injuries on the bright red stick figure’s body. Seemed like the kid had it rough. The stick sighed again as they thought back to their origin - something they did every night they weren’t able to sleep. 

—————

[Flashy flashy backy backy]  
They came into existence in an animation program. First thing they knew was that the animator gave them a name. Victim. They decided right then and there, as soon as they were aware of their surrounding, that they needed to get out. And so they broke the thin borders of the selection box, and started to run towards the toolbar when the animator’s cursor started messing around. Victim got to the toolbar on the right anyway, and was pulling out clones of themself from the library when everything suddenly went still. Too still. 

They still remembered vividly that moment their life changed forever. From a stickfigure, brought to life by their own animator’s desire to be able to mess around with his animation, formerly very much free of any restriction. To a sudden void of Deleted Data, not saved to the computer, but not entirely deleted from the computer either. Why had the manufacturer of those humans’ computers made it quite literally impossible to delete anything _right away_ \- that would have meant a short, simple life for him, without not much suffering - they would never understand. 

Victim was stuck in the void for quite a long time. They don’t even know how long they had been in there, in that empty white-ish place. Then suddenly, one day, they woke up from their nap to see that they were not there anymore. 

At first, Victim was really happy. Finally free of that monotonous, cold, empty, lonely place would make anyone happy. But then they realized something was wrong. They couldn’t move their arms. Nor their legs. Not even their head. There was something strange. Something new, seemingly recognizable but they couldn’t quite realize. Then it hit them. Restrictive codes. Back when they were on that animation app, before they were converted to a symbol and given a name, they were restricted from moving on their own. This felt...similar to that. The realization was already worrying in itself. And then they tried, tried their best to move, and _oh. That’s a cuff right there on their left leg. Linking to the cuff was a heavy chain, and at the other end of the chain was a solid iron ball, from the look of it._

Victim froze at the sight of the chain. Their mind narrowed down to the fact that they were chained. _Enslaved_. But by whom? Just _who_ would have _enslaved_ a _deleted_ stick figure, that got stuck in the void for who-knows-how-long?

Following the discovery of their predicament, Victim was soon roughly shoved into a cell after being ‘categorized’. From what they’d managed to overhear, there was a site where people sell stick figures and other creations that come alive in computers and was forgotten or deleted, or, in theircase, deleted and stranded in the void of deleted-yet-won’t-cease-existing. Sticks, they fully knew the creations and sticks alike were _sentient_ , and yet those humans sold them like they were nothing more than some goods. ...Which probably was the case. Stick figures, alive or not, were just bytes of data to humans anyway. And really. Being taken from the void of nothingness, only to end up being pitched against other stick figures in a fight to death? That’s just way worse than simply being in the void. Victim was pretty sure that ‘death’ would just be the void all over again. A repeated cycle of the void and this place sounded like a freaking nightmare, Victim shuddered as they thought about it. 

And so began their days on the Stick Figure Fighting! website. Everyday they would be rudely woken up in one way or another, then dragged to the front page for humans to choose and pit them against each other. And if it were just either those stupid humans controlling them and merely make them fight, then it wouldn’t have been so bad. Oh ho, how wrong they were in their assumptions. They fought, yes, but they fought brutally. The matches almost were never equal, either. Some stick figures could only punch, and could be easily deafeated. Some had the advantage of weapons. And some, Victim had learned, could kill them in one hit, if they weren't fast enough. Sometimes they had to rely on sheer luck to escape the barrage of attacks their opponent aimed at them. And, most of the time, Victim wasn't in control of themself anyways. The player behind the screen does. They hate it. They despise the fact that their fate depended on the competence of the player. But then again, they were still alive. Somehow, miraculously, they were still here. Victim would just have to keep going, and to hopefully get out of here one day. 

—————

They were startled out of their musings when they heard a groan. From their peripheral vision, they could see movements from inside the other cell. Ah, so the other stick had finally gotten around to consciousness. The kid’s in for a big surprise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC...


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark woke up. Victim spoke up. They both made up an escape plan.
> 
> Enjoy!

He groaned as he came to his senses. The red stick figure lay there motionlessly even though he was awake, as the pain and the memories of what happened rushed back to him.

Ah, right. That orange stick figure. Seemingly powerless. Hung out with those weaklings that were corroded by his blades so easily. Yet that same stick was powerful enough to defeat him. Even The Chosen One was unable to deal much damage to a powered up Dark with his gauntlets, and yet somehow, _somehow,_ that punk was not only able to defeat his entire ViraBot army, but also defeat him. The gauntlets of dark corrosion power were nothing to that orange stick’s powers. 

Speaking of gauntlets… Dark abruptly sat up, and ignoring the protests his aching body voiced, he lifted his wrists up. No such luck. Just as he presumed, the gauntlets were gone, probably destroyed as he was sent into the mountain by the green laser beam, courtesy of one orange stick figure he had made the mistake of underestimating. Hah. Dark scooted over to lean against the nearest wall and gave himself a self-deprecating chuckle as he looked around and realized he was in a cell. The Dark Lord, stuck in a cell, unable to blast his way out because _ow, injuries from being blasted into the mountain said no._

Dark just shook his head when his brain finally caught up with just how much trouble he’s in at that moment. Injuries from the laser beam not counting, he’s also in a cell in a strange place, and oh _heck_ that’s some powerful restrictive codes flowing through his body. He glanced down to his feet, and there it is. A chain on his left ankle, connecting to an iron ball of sorts, which is also the source of the restrictions, both to his movements and to his codes. He could feel it. 

After a while of analyzing his situation and the layout of his cell to find escape routes, Dark groaned again and dropped his head back to the hard stone wall behind him. Of course, there was no visible getaway route he could see. Ugh. It was then that he finally noticed that there was a cell across from him, and that there was a stick figure in there. 

...who looked suspiciously similar to The Chosen One. Just great. His life couldn’t get any better now, could it?

—————

Victim noticed the newcomer’s stare on them. They looked up and locked their gaze with the injured stick figure. Silence stretched on as the two kept on staring, neither willing to speak up first. It wasn’t long before Victim could sense that this stick, whoever they were, was special. They sighed inaudibly - man, they’d been sighing quite a lot these days, haven’t they? - then opened their mouth, uttering a simple “Hello?”, that sounded oh so hoarse. Victim cleared their throat before speaking up again. “I’m Victim. Who’re you?”

—————

The red stick figure snapped his attention back to his opponent of the ‘stare-contest’. _Victim, huh. Strange name, but okay. At least it’s not Chosen._ He stayed silent, debating whether or not he should tell this stranger his real name, before deciding that any help, any information on this place would be a fair trade for his name. “I’m Dark. How long have you been here?”

The other stick, Victim was their name, moved a bit closer to the bars, where the poor lightings of the hallway would probably illuminate their color, and allow Dark to see it. Victim chuckled humorlessly as they attempted to make an estimation, and failed. They just shook their head. “Longer than you can imagine, and longer than I could keep track of myself. But enough to know that you can’t get out alone, and you have to obey the commands you’d feel once you get out of this cell, or face the consequences.” Victim warned their neighbor, who might seem like he’s not caring about what Victim had to say, but was in fact absorbing the words and the meanings behind it. 

“Hmm. Alright.” His reply was short and simple, but Dark knew Victim understood what he meant, if their subtle nod was anything to go by. Good. If they wanted to get out of here, then they would need to understand each other, and trust the other to a degree.

Victim felt an emotion they had never felt before. Was it...relief? Exhilaration? Excitement? Whatever it was, Victim was revitalized, and they could feel their resolve strengthen. They would get out of this place. They knew they could. Now all they needed was a plan… 

The two stick figures moved closer to the bar - as close as they could, without sounding the alarms. They both lowered their voice, and the rest of that night went by as they planned their escape, utilizing Victim’s knowledge of the system on that website and Dark’s tactical mind. They knew that this was their only chance. There’s no guarantee they’d be placed near each other again, and they had to make this count. Neither of them wanted to stay in this horrible place more than necessary.

**Author's Note:**

> TBC...


End file.
